


The (Un)Lucky ones

by I_Amuse_Myself



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, I cried while writing this, M/M, Sad, Shooting, im really sorry, lots of blood, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Amuse_Myself/pseuds/I_Amuse_Myself
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the shots ring out, all hell breaks loose. People are running in every direction, screaming. Combeferre stumbles as people push past him in all directions. It’s all he could do not to get trampled. He can’t see Enjolras.<br/>He can’t see Enjolras and that’s bad, because Enjolras had been on the podium when the shots had been fired.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Un)Lucky ones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Audity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Audity/gifts).



> I'm so sorry for this.  
> For my dear friend Audrey <3

When the shots ring out, all hell breaks loose. People are running in every direction, screaming. Combeferre stumbles as people push past him in all directions. It’s all he could do not to get trampled. He can’t see Enjolras.

He can’t see Enjolras and that’s bad, because Enjolras had been on the podium when the shots had been fired.

_He can’t see Enjolras._

Combeferre sets his jaw and begins to push through the panicked crowds, slowly making his way to the podium.

He can hear some others calling his name, but he ignores them. He has to get to Enjolras.

He barely registers Courf’s hand on his shoulder, shrugs him off, keeps going. Courfeyrac follows him, but that’s okay. He might need his help anyways.

It seems like forever before they reach the podium and climb up to reach it.

Combeferre’s heart turns to ice when he sees the blood.

Behind the podium is Enjolras, lying on the ground in a puddle of his own blood. Grantaire is kneeling by his side, crying as he desperately presses his shirt to Enjolras’ side in an attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

Enjolras is even more pale than usual, and his beautiful face is contorted in agony.

“Combeferre!” Grantaire sobs out, “Combeferre you have to do something!”

Combeferre drops to his knees beside his best friend, taking a deep breath. He could do this. If anyone has any hope of saving Enjolras, it’s him. He’s the med student. (He’s almost ready to choke back vomit at the sight of his best friend bleeding out on the ground)

He takes the shirt from Grantaire, continuing to put pressure on the wound to quell the bleeding.

Just as he opens his mouth to tell Courfeyrac to find him some water and a first aid kit, something punches through his chest.

Combeferre can only stare down at the circle of red in his chest before he topples over onto Enjolras.

There are voices shouting his name, but they slowly fade away as everything goes black.

 

Courfeyrac knows somewhere deep in his heart that Combeferre is already dead, but that doesn’t stop him from flipping his friend over and trying to force some life back into him.

“Combeferre, Combeferre no, you have to wake up. Combeferre please!”

“You two have to get out of here.”

Courf looks over at Enjolras, whose face has begun to look gray. He smiles reassuringly at Courfeyrac, but he can see the agony in his eyes. Courf isn’t sure if it’s from the bullet wound or from watching his best friend die trying to save his life.

“Enjolras, we’re not leaving you,” Courfeyrac insists, “We can still save you!”

“It’s too late for that…” Enjolras continues with his peaceful smile even as blood runs from the corner of his mouth, “I’m dead already. Take Grantaire and get out of here.”

Grantaire looks almost as pale as Enjolras, but he grabs his hand and stares at him with a steely look in his blue-gray eyes.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“I’m not giving you a choice. Get out of here.” Enjolras’ voice has never seemed so weak when giving a command.

Grantaire just holds onto his hand tighter.

“God dammit Grantaire…” Enjolras grits his teeth and grabs Grantaire’s shirt collar, pulling him down to give him a bloody kiss on the lips, “I’m sorry, but you have to go. Please!”

“Enj…” Grantaire looks surprised for a minute, then shakes his head, “No!”

“You were always… so damn stubborn…” Enjolras’ breath is labored now.

“You’re not going to die, Apollo. You’re not allowed!” tears are streaming down Grantaire’s face again.

Enjolras’ eyes flutter shut and Grantaire grabs his shoulders and shakes him until he opens them again, “I need you to stay awake!”

“I need you to let me go…” Enjolras says, “Just let me go… okay, ‘Taire?”

“No!”

“Let… me go…” Enjolras’ voice trails into a whisper and his eyes flutter shut again.

Grantaire screams in anguish and shakes him by his shoulders again.

Enjolras doesn’t open his eyes again.

Grantaire continues shaking him, sobbing and begging Enjolras to just wake up.

Another shot grazes Courfeyrac’s cheek.

“We have to go.” He says, squeezing his eyes shut so that he doesn’t have to look at the bodies of his two best friends.

“I’m not leaving him!” Grantaire insists, “I told him I wouldn’t!”

“He’s dead!” Courf’s voice cracks, “They’re both dead, god dammit!”

Courfeyrac grabs Grantaire and pries him away from Enjolras’ limp body.

“No!”

“Get a hold of yourself!” Courfeyrac slaps him across the face, “We’re going to survive this, do you hear me?”

“What’s the point?” Grantaire looks at his feet, sounding defeated.

“Because it’s what they would have wanted.” Courf’s voice cracks again, but he chokes back his tears as he grips Grantaire’s wrist and leads him away from the two bodies drenched in red.

 

When Courfeyrac finally makes it home after police investigations and tearful friends, the first thing he does is go into the closet that Combeferre and Enjolras shared and tear all the shirts off the hangers. He makes them into a little nest and cuddles a red plaid one that really could have belonged to either of them (and was probably shared by both) and breathes in the combined scent of his friends.

He knows that it will fade away soon, so he might as well engrave it into his memory while he can. Maybe if he remembers the scent well enough, it will bring them back to him.

Maybe if he stays here and sleeps in this pile of shirts, Combeferre and Enjolras will come walking in the next morning and look at him like he’s nuts and asking him “what did you do to our closet?”

Eventually, he does sleep, but when morning comes, the apartment is deadly silent. Enjolras and Combeferre aren’t looking for their clothes. Enjolras and Combeferre are still dead.

Courf doesn’t have the energy to get up from his nest of shirts. Instead he just lays there as the tears finally spill out and he muffles his sobs in the red plaid shirt.


End file.
